“Oh!  It’s you, is it?” muttered Lieutenant Wingate, rising slowly, his eyes fixed on the face of the man before him.

“Ah reckons as it’s me,” agreed Lum, permitting a hand to slip carelessly inside his coat across the chest, where Lieutenant Wingate had reason to believe that a revolver hung suspended from a shoulder holster.  This being the case, he considered it inadvisable to reach for his own weapon.

As yet the drama being played by the two men had not attracted the attention of those in the schoolroom, with the exception of the Overland girls who had recognized Lum instantly, and Julie Thompson, who was gazing open-mouthed from one to the other of them.

“Ah told ye t’ git out, didn’t Ah?” demanded the mountaineer in a strained voice.

“And I put you out,” retorted Hippy.  “This is no place for a fight.  If you wish to see me, come around to our camp in the morning.”

“Be careful, Hippy,” warned Anne in a low tone.

“Ah’m goin’ t’ say it agin, once more.  You git out o’ this right smart or Ah’ll put er hole through yer miserable carcass!”

Hippy suddenly found himself facing a revolver in the hands of Lum Bangs.

The dancers stopped dancing, a couple at a time, and quickly got out of range of Lum Bangs’ weapon; the music died away, and a heavy silence, tense with possibilities, settled over the hot, smoky room.

“Are ye goin’?”

“On one condition ­that you put down your gun and come outside with me.  We’ll have it out man to man.  These gentlemen will give us fair play, and the fellow who is whipped takes his medicine and goes.  Are you man enough to come out and stand up to me?” Hippy thrust out his chin, and there was a set expression on his face, such as Grace Harlowe recalled having seen there immediately after he had shot down three German airplanes on the French fighting front.

“No, no!” begged Nora, not much above a whisper.

“Oh, stop him!” begged Emma of the young mountaineer with whom she had been dancing.  “He’s going to shoot.  I know he is.  Make them fight it out with their fists.  Hippy whipped Lum once, and he can do it again.  I’ll be Lum’s second and you can be the second for Lieutenant Wingate.”

“What’s er second, Miss?”

“A ­a second is one who fans his fighter with a towel, and wipes up the blood.  Oh, do stop him!”

“Ah reckon Ah will,” drawled the mountaineer.

“Are ye goin’?” demanded Lum Bangs.

“No!”

“Drop that gun or I’ll drill ye, Lum Bangs!” commanded the cool voice of Emma Dean’s dancing partner, his revolver now levelled at Lum.

The warning came too late.

Lum Bangs, in a sudden impulse of rage, pulled the trigger and fired point blank at Lieutenant Wingate, but the young mountaineer’s warning to him, at the critical moment, had drawn Lum’s thoughts from his aim, and his bullet missed its mark.  Hippy heard it whistle past him close to his head.

Bang!

Barely a second had elapsed between Lum Bangs’ shot and a second report.

Lum uttered a howl, and his weapon dropped from his relaxed fingers, just as Hippy sprang upon him and dealt the mountaineer a blow that felled him.

“Don’t!  Don’t, Hippy!  The man has been shot,” begged Anne.

“Jump on him!  Stomp on him, why don’t ye?” screamed a mountain girl.

The room was in instant uproar, and weapons were drawn and levelled menacingly at the young mountaineer who had ordered Lum to “drop” his gun.

“Stop!” cried Emma Dean excitedly.  “This man didn’t fire that second shot.  He has done nothing, so put away your cannon.”

“That’s right, folks.  Ah didn’t shoot, but Ah was goin’ t’.  Some other duffer fired the shot that hit Lum.  You-all kin look at mah gun.”  He held it out with the muzzle toward him.

The men crowded about him, examining the cylinder to see if a cartridge had been fired from it, and taking a sniff at the muzzle.

“That’s right.  It ain’t been fired,” agreed a mountaineer, a puzzled expression appearing on his face.  “Did Lum get his’n?”

“No.  The bullet went through his wrist,” answered Lieutenant Wingate, who, having turned up the sleeve of Bangs’ coat, was peering at the wounded wrist.  “Men, I’m sorry I struck him, but you see I didn’t know some one was going to shoot him.  I had to punch him to save my own life, expecting that he would shoot again.  As it was I nearly ran into that second shot.  Fetch me something ­some water.”

A glass of lemonade was brought, and Nora Wingate threw it into the face of the unconscious mountaineer.  In the meantime, Elfreda was giving first aid to the injured wrist.  Lum began to stir about this time, and, at Elfreda’s suggestion, he was carried to a window where he might get more free air.

The mountaineers were puzzled.  They had, by then, examined every revolver in the room, including those carried by the Overland Riders, but not one had been fired.

“Ah wants ter know who fired that shot,” demanded one of them.  “Somebody did, an’ we’re goin’ to find the critter that did it.  I ain’t sayin’ that this feller with the uniform on didn’t do all right in hittin’ Lum, but what we wants t’ find out is who winged him in the wrist.”

“I think, gentlemen, that the second shot was fired through the window.  I am quite certain that it was.  I sat near the window and the report of the weapon seemed to be behind me,” Anne Nesbit informed them.

There was a concerted rush for the outer air, leaving the Overlanders to attend to Lum Bangs, who was now almost wholly restored to consciousness.  Julie Thompson was standing back a little from the group about him, gazing at Lum, a heavy frown on her forehead.  Grace nodded and smiled to the girl.

“Don’t worry, Julie.  He will be all right in a few moments,” soothed the Overland girl.

“I ain’t worryin’ fer the likes o’ him,” she replied, elevating her chin and turning her back on her escort.

The Overland girls looked at each other inquiringly.

“Ah hearn somethin’ ’bout ye to-night, Lum Bangs, that ye don’t know as Ah does know,” she said, whirling suddenly on him.

“You-all ain’t goin’ back on me, are yuh, Julie?” begged Lum.

“Naw.  Ah ain’t goin’ back on ye, cause Ah already has.  Ah don’t want nothin’ more t’ do with ye.  Understand?”

The mountaineer’s face reddened.

“Who shot me?” he demanded, sitting up suddenly and feeling for his weapon.

“You needn’t look at me that way,” objected Hippy.  “I didn’t shoot you.  I punched you, that’s all.  Some one on the outside of the building fired the shot that hit you.  I ­”

A commotion at the door interrupted Hippy.  The mountaineers came crowding in dragging Washington Washington with them.  Washington’s eyes were rolling, and he was trembling from fright.

“Is this heah your niggah?” demanded one, glaring at Hippy.

“No, he isn’t my ‘niggah,’ but he belongs to our outfit.  Why?” replied Lieutenant Wingate.

“‘Cause we found him hidin’ in the bushes, an’ reckoned as mebby he is the feller that shot Lum.”

“What, Wash?” laughed Emma Dean.  “Why, Wash couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a shotgun.  Besides, he has no revolver, and it was a revolver that fired the shot you refer to.”

“Let me talk to him,” urged Grace.  “Washington, were you outside near the building when the shots were fired?” she asked in a soothing tone.

“Yessah ­yes’m.”

“Did you see any one near the window?”

“Yessah ­yes’m.  Ah ­Ah sawed er man hidin’ in de bush dere.”

“Did you see him shoot?” asked Elfreda.

“Ah did not, but Ah heard him shoot, den w’en Ah looked, Ah didn’t sawed him no moah.”

“Who was it?” demanded a mountaineer.

“Ah doan know.  Ah didn’t sawed him close ‘nuf, an’ den Ah didn’t sawed him at all.”

“He oughter be strung up anyway,” suggested a voice.

“Don’t get excited!  Don’t get excited,” urged Lieutenant Wingate, when it became plain that the mountaineers were determined to make further trouble.

“Gentlemen, Lieutenant Wingate has given you good advice.  That colored boy is not to be blamed for what has occurred here,” declared Miss Briggs, getting to her feet.  “It is not necessary for you to take my word for that, nor the boy’s.  You can prove it for yourselves.”

“How?” demanded several voices.

“Go outside and examine the bushes that grow by the window through which the shot was fired, and look at the ground carefully for foot-tracks.  I am amazed that you didn’t think of it yourselves.  You see when one is angry he does not reason and ­”

The men did not give her opportunity to finish.  They again bolted from the schoolroom.  Their voices and their exclamations were heard under the window a moment later.

“That was fine, J. Elfreda,” glowed Grace.

“If they fail to find tracks there I am sorry for Wash, that’s all,” replied Miss Briggs with a shrug.

“Yer right!” cried a mountaineer, entering the room at that juncture.  “We seen where the critter was standin’ when he shot Lum.  We seen the mark o’ his boots, and the bunch is startin’ to follow his trail.  Reckon you gals might as well go home, fer they’ll be a different kind o’ a party if they kotch him.  Won’t be no more dancin’ t’-night.”

“Ladies, I am sorry if we were the cause of trouble here,” began Grace.

“You-all ain’t,” protested Julie.

“Thank you.”  Grace favored her with a radiant smile.  “What I was about to say, is that we expect to break camp and go on to-morrow morning.  If we do not, we should like to have you young ladies come and call on us.  It is always open house in the Overland camp.  Julie, I hope we shall see you in the morning.”

“Ah don’t reckon as you-all will be goin’ away in the mornin’.  Ah s’ppose Ah ought t’ tell you-all what Ah knows, but Ah reckons you-all’ll find out for yourselves soon ’nuf.”

Julie’s words did not impress the Overlanders at the moment, but while on their way to camp they pondered over them, discussed them and wondered what she may have meant.

The answer to the question in their minds Grace and her friends found awaiting them when they reached the camp.